


A Garden of Hope

by vedadone



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Brotherly Love, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce just really loves his kids okay, Canonical Character Death, Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne's Parent, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Parenthood, Platonic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-27 08:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30120273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vedadone/pseuds/vedadone
Summary: Bruce has never considered himself to be a person who could be a good father. The universe is determined to prove him wrong.Soulmark AU where marks symbolise platonic bonds between parents and children, those not of blood.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Barbara Gordon, Cassandra Cain & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Duke Thomas & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 21
Kudos: 231





	1. Seeds of New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fic in a while, so definitely don't be shy to leave concrit in the comments. Hope you enjoy this!

When Bruce Wayne was born, he had a lily of the valley on his chest, and a white rose on his elbow.

“Alfred, looks like we might have to raise your hours.” Thomas joked, eyeing the lily of the valley that had materialised on the back of his valet’s hand during the night, an exact copy of his sons.

“Quite so, sir.” Alfred replied, a softness in his voice undermining his formality as he beheld his new soulchild, who was currently sleeping, tucked into his mother’s arms. Soul parents and soul children - the cosmos’s way of forging bonds outside of blood.

Martha looked down at her baby boy, tracing the symbol on his chest. “A lily of the valley,” she said softly. “It symbolises the return of happiness, and purity, but the whole flower is toxic,”

Not everyone has a soul parent and not everyone has a soul child, but a symbol on your chest indicates you will have one or the either - while also representing who you are. They often followed a theme - animals, instruments, flowers. As a child, Alfred had often considered his own white rose and lack of other marks, indicating no soul parents, but possible soul children. A part of him felt complete. The room settled into silence as the baby slept, unaware of the loving gazes of his three parents that were focused on him.

“Would you like to hold him, Alfred?” Martha asked, shifting slightly.

“It would be my pleasure,” he replied, gently taking Bruce from Martha’s hands, rocking him slowly. Bruce opened his eyes at the movement, a quiet blue like the ocean on a cloudy day. “Hello, young Master Bruce.” Alfred said, as Bruce looked up at him, curious. In that moment, Alfred never wanted to let go of the infant in his arms, tied to him by the will of the universe itself.

Thomas smiled. “I’m glad, you know. That someone will take care of him whenever Martha and I are away.” Alfred’s gaze never strayed from his new charge, but with conviction in his voice, he promised them. 

“I will always be there for him. That, I can promise you.”

How bitterly this promise had been fulfilled.

\---

When Bruce’s first soulchild mark appeared, he was 16. He was many things - angry, clever, driven, lonely - but he was not the type of person to become a father. Naturally, this led to a small freakout.

“Alfred!” he yelled, running down the stairs and into the kitchen. Alfred put down the dishes he had been washing and turned to see the panicked visage of his charge. Bruce had always been a reserved child, so this display of emotion was shocking, to say the least.

“Whatever is the matter, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked, a small seed of concern growing in his chest.

He showed Alfred his wrist, where a small Daffodil had grown. Ah, Alfred thought. A soulchild. Suddenly, a wave of warm emotion washed over Alfred at the thought of his small family expanding. Although he tried to give Bruce as much love and attention as he could, the boy was lonely - his aversion to making friends didn’t help with this matter. Perhaps more family would.

Bruce still looked slightly panicked, although his face was smoothing back again, his mind erecting the walls that had fallen with this revelation. “Alfred, I can’t be a dad. How am I meant to take care of a kid? I’ll just mess them up, I -” 

Alfred put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder and met his eyes. Bruce had grown so tall, taller than him. He looked more and more like his father everyday, but his eyes would forever be his mothers.

“I was born with simply my own symbol, and none for soul parents. Because of this, I knew one day a child would be born, and I would have to protect them, and perhaps even raise them as my own. Most days, I did not believe I would be fit for the job.” He’d doubted himself as a teenager, scared of this large responsibility. He’d doubted himself the most during the war, when his hands had taken lives - hands destined to nurture another. He’d doubted himself when Bruce’s mark appeared on the back of his hand in the waiting room next to his boss and best friend, the night that Bruce was born. 

He hadn’t doubted himself the moment he saw Bruce, knowing instantly he’d protect this child with his life. Alfred smiled and looked at his boy, whose frame was tense with nervousness and resignation.

“Some things, Master Bruce, are decided for us by fate. I know the kind of man you are, and I know that the child born today is lucky to have you as a parent.” 

Daffodils symbolize hope, renewal, and truth. Looking at the yellow flower on his wrist, feeling the seeds of hope it planted, Bruce almost believed him.

\---

Four years later, Bruce’s second mark appeared. A blood red dahlia, bright and confident, bloomed next to his daffodil. It was the flower of change, of danger, and of inner strength - of rising from the ashes. When it appeared, Bruce had been thousands of miles away from home, training so he could return to protect it.

The League of Assassins was unforgiving. Everyday, Bruce had been pushed to his limit, given new challenges that would leave him sore and bruised. Everyday, Bruce became a little harsher, a little more violent. Everyday, he became more of a man that could save his city. Everyday, Bruce considered himself less of the type of person who could be a good father. But, evidently, the universe was determined to prove him wrong.

Like with his first mark, those feelings of resignation returned, of fear - but this time, he had no-one to tell him it would be fine. One child was already nerve racking, but two?

(Somewhere, under his reluctance, unbridled joy for one day having a family again bloomed.)

Ignoring the marks and their weight on his wrist, and ignoring the longing for comfort, Bruce continued working through his katas. He had a mission to complete.

\---

Mark three appeared when Bruce was twenty four, two weeks into his crusade. A gladiolus silently took place next to his existing marks, white petals tipped with purple. It had appeared sometime during patrol but Bruce had only noticed when he had gotten back to the cave and stripped his gear.

Patrol that night was rough. Some goons had gotten lucky with a bat and managed to crack a rib and dislocate his left shoulder, much to Alfred’s disappointment and worry. They sat in silence while he patched Bruce up.

By now, Bruce had accepted his fate, but he couldn’t help that pang of fear whenever he saw his marks, now with a new one added to the roster. Alfred simply looked at his marks and sighed. 

“You shouldn’t worry so much about the inevitable, Master Bruce,” he said, meticulously wrapping bandages around the bruises and cuts that littered Bruce’s body. “I’m sure you’ll love these children life has given you.”

“That’s what I’m worried about, Alfred.”

\---

A little under one year later, the fourth mark appeared, an orange snapdragon. A few months after that, a blueish-purple iris. Three months after that, a purple chrysanthemum. Three more kids. Three more, in one year. Bruce was ready to faint. 

Alfred on the other hand, merely looked amused at the ring of flowers around Bruce’s hand.

Snapdragons symbolize resilience, growing in difficult and sun-starved places. Blue irises symbolise unyielding faith and hope, more violet hues symbolise wisdom. Purple chrysanthemums represent longevity, positivity and good luck.

Bruce, underneath his shock, idly wondered if these flowers, these children, would bring these gifts into his life. 

\---

Bruce met his first mark, his daffodil, as the child sobbed into his chest, crying over bodies that would never fly again, under circus colours and lights too bright for the tragedy that occurred that day. The lily of the valley on the child's shoulder - on his child's shoulder - almost felt inadequate to Bruce in the face of such loss, but something inside of him told him that maybe he could help this child so similar to him. Perhaps he could be enough.

\---

Dick was 16, and training in the cave when it happened. Much like another occupant of the manor at this age, he began to freak out.

“Bruce! Bruce! I’m a dad!” he yelled, as he scampered over to the batcomputer where Bruce was engrossed in a case. 

For a few seconds, Bruce froze, his mind jumping to a natural conclusion. “Did you get someone pregnant?” he asked, trying to remain as neutral as possible. Dick rolled his eyes and showed him his arm. There was an orange Amaryllis, nestled in the crook of his elbow. Bruce’s heart rate began to slow back down, and instead, warm nostalgia and happiness bloomed in his heart. Is this how Alfred felt, sixteen years ago, when Bruce showed him his first mark?

“You have a soulchild,” Bruce said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice but failing to do so.

“Yeah,” Dick said softly, his subdued demeanor different from his normal spontaneity. “I do.” 

A beat passed before Dick put on a big grin. “Guess that means you’re a grandad at 32, huh?” He joked, much to Bruce’s exasperation. 

“You know that’s not what it necessarily means.” Bruce said, amused. “You could just be their pseudo-uncle or something. Don’t make me sound older than I am.” But although Bruce wasn’t the best at emotions, he was still a detective and the tension in Dick’s frame made how obvious his nervousness was under his mask of humour. Bruce stood up from the batcomputer chair and looked at his son in everything but blood, one that the universe had blessed him with. “You’ll do fine, you know. I know that child will be loved,” he said, and undercurrent of love and hope present in his voice.

The tension slowly eased from Dick’s body. “I can’t wait to meet them," he said, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. His smile this time was genuine, as the promise of a bright future shone from his mark. Amaryllises symbolize hard won achievement, creativity, strength and determination. Dick knew that he would love his child more than life itself.


	2. Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick Grayson loved his parents, and he loved them back. Despite never meeting the person behind his mark on his shoulder, Dick knew he'd love them too.
> 
> Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Funny story. All of the Batkids meeting Bruce was meant to be this chapter, and then I realised how much I wanted to explore the concept, so now, EVERY kid gets their own chapter. First up, Dick. Note, I aged him up to eleven when his parents die so my timeline works together lol, otherwise Tim would be a foetus when the Graysons die.
> 
> Concrit is always appreciated :)

Dick Grayson doesn’t remember asking his parents about his marks, because the marks had been a part of his life since the day his memories started, since before that fuzzy fog that obscured his babyhood. Before he went to sleep every night, when his parents would sit with him and sing and tell him stories, they’d talk to him about his marks and their meanings, the fondness in their voices rocking him to sleep.

It had been a long day at the circus, but Dick never got tired of watching his parents flip and toss and _fly_. Dick was only five, but his parents and Pop Haly told him he could be in the show next year if he kept making progress the way he was doing now. This news had caused him to work as hard as he could, so one day he could soar through the air as they do and then be caught by the loving arms of the people he loved most. Unfortunately, he’d been too tired after that day of gymnastics that he fell asleep through the night show before his parents performed.

While sleeping, his father had picked him up in his arms and taken him back to their caravan, small yet cosy and a place Dick considered his home. Dick, between the transfer from his father’s arms to his bed, woke up, sleep still lacing his features as he looked up at his parents.

“Go back to sleep Dick,” his father said, slowly moving his hands away from Dick’s back. But as he began to move away, Dick grabbed the edge of his sleeve and whined.

“Baba, you have to tell me a story! Otherwise I can’t sleep,” he moaned, turning on his puppy dog eyes and using them on his parents. John Grayson sighed fondly, while his wife merely looked amused.

“You were sleeping just fine backstage. Pop Haly said you almost fell off of your chair, “ she said, taking a seat on his bed nonetheless.

“That doesn’t count mom! I was tired. And I’m not. Now.” Dick said, and this would have been more convincing if he hadn’t let out a yawn in the middle of the sentence. However, seeing their son pout was enough for Mary and John to exchange a glance before John joined his family on the bed. Dick, satisfied, gave a small tired grin and let go of his dad’s sleeve. “Tell me about my marks,” he asked quietly, settling down further into the cocoon of warmth that had formed around him.

“Again?” John asked, a thread of humour in his voice. His son was obsessed with the stories about marks, always asking why they were there and who was behind the unassuming white flower on his shoulder. At Dick’s nod, John began speaking, his rich and low voice like honey to Dick’s ears.

“We are all connected by strings, which the universe has tied for us. Some are obvious, like your parents and family, connected by the strings of blood. Some are not, and we must find them in our own way, on our own terms. Some are bonds that we cherish, some are bonds we never wish we had. In the end, fate has many plans for all of us, but it is up to us to use them. But that doesn’t mean the universe can’t give us a little push, or a few hints on how.”

“That’s what soulmarks are. Our hints to find people who love us.” Dick said firmly, smiling up at his dad.

“Well, looks like you already know how the story goes. Do you need us to tell you it?” Mary asked, teasingly. At this, Dick scrunched up his nose.

“Yeah, I do. It’s better when you tell it to me,” he said matter-of-factly. Mary laughed and continued from where her husband left off.

“Yes, our soulmarks are our hints. Not everyone has them though, only those who might have difficulty finding their soul family,” she said, softly. “They are a window into our souls, and represent many things about you.” Mary then reached over and touched her son's chest, right over his heart. “You, my love, are a daffodil. A symbol of spring, of new beginnings. You symbolise the sun after a storm, the hope in broken hearts, the truth and honesty and trustworthiness that you’d expect of a loved one.”

Dick had always loved how his mother described his mark. It made him feel special, and it made him feel like someone who could bring happiness into other people’s lives. He’d never get tired of hearing those words from her mouth. His dad picked up from there.

“Soulbonds go both ways. Although this person will take care of you the same way we do, you are going to bring these gifts into your soul-parents life. You’ll help each other, the way you help your mother and me, and the way we help you.”

Dick had imagined what kind of person was behind the white flower in his shoulder - a Lily of the Valley, his parents had told him. He’d never seen one in real life, only pictures in a book they’d bought him.

“The person who has your mark is so lucky to have you, and you are so lucky to have them,” Mary said softly, tucking the blanket over her son. “Once you meet them, they’ll tell you stories, and teach you new things, and sit with you after nightmares.” Her husband continued stroking his fingers through Dick’s black hair, a carbon copy of his own. Dick’s eyes, however, were his mother’s blue, electric and bright like the summer sky. “They’ll love you Dick. As much as we do.”

Dick smiled after listening to his parents, knowing their words like the back of his hand and finding profound comfort in the familiarity. Although he was slowly drifting into the vestiges of sleep, he had one last request. “Sing for me, Baba?” he asked, looking up at his father.

John smiled at his son, his whole world. “Of course, love.” He began to sing an old Romani lullaby, one passed down from his mother to him. His register was low, the tune was soft and wrapped around Dick like the warmest blanket in the world. Lost in the notes, he began to drift away.

Dick was fast asleep by the end of the lullaby, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. His mother smiled, pressed her lips to his forehead and John slowly untangled his fingers from Dick’s hair. “Goodnight, my little robin,” Mary whispered softly, exiting the room with her husband without a peep.

That night he would dream of meeting this mystery stranger, his soulparent, someone new that Dick could give his love to and be loved back for it. Someone who could join his little family, composed of his mother and father, plus the folks at the circus and Zitka, of course. He wondered what languages they would speak, in which country he would meet them. He dreamed of seeing them at one of the performances, as a member of his troupe. At the various inns and taverns they stopped at on their journey.

Maybe they’d come to the circus one day as an audience member, and see Dick perform with his parents when he was ready to fly. He’d like that.

\---

Dick hadn’t realised how lucky he was that he had parents who accepted his soul marks until a couple years later, when he met a little girl at one of his performances with a bright pink butterfly on her neck and a small black cat on her hand. She also had long, deep looking scars across her throat and palm, right through the middle of both her marks. She looked no older than seven. Anger quickly filled him. Who would slash a little girl’s marks like that? Her connection to her soulparents? Who’d ever _think_ to harm a child?

The girl came up to him with stars in her eyes.

“Hi! I’m Leah. I saw your performance. It was super cool! How do you manage to jump like that? I’d be afraid” she said, her voice fast and giddy with excitement. Hiding his concern, Dick plastered on a smile.

“I’m glad you liked it! And it takes a lot of practice, you know? My parents taught me how. I’m not afraid because I’ve been watching them since I was a baby, and if they can do it, so can I!” he said with his charismatic charm and a grin. Leah looked at him like he had the ability to hang the stars in the sky.

“You soul parents, right? I saw your one of your soul marks on your shoulder,” she said, her gaze traveling to Dick’s shoulder where his little flower sat. Their leotards for the performance cut off at the shoulders, so the mark wasn’t hidden.

“No, I haven’t met mine yet. My birth parents taught me how to fly,” he said, feeling the sudden weight of the flower on his shoulder. “Plus, I only have one.”

This seemed to confuse Leah. “Your birth parents? They’re fine with your mark?” she asked, head tilted. “I thought you only had marks if your birth parents were bad people” she said, fiddling with her palm. Dick had a sinking feeling about who had used a knife on this little girl. He shook his head.

“No, my parents are good. And that's not true! Soul parents are just more people to love. It’s got nothing to do with what your parents are like,” he said. Leah didn't seem to believe him, though.

“Then why do you need soulparents if your parents are already ok? At the foster home, all the other kids with soulmarks either had parents like mine or their parents were dead,” she said. Dick didn’t miss the little shiver when she mentioned her parents. What had they been thinking to try and hurt their own child? Leah continued. “That’s what soulparents are: replacement parents.”

Before Dick could refute her, two women came up and scooped Leah into their arms, causing her to laugh. “Leah! You shouldn’t have run off like that,” the one with glasses said, scolding but not mean.

Leah grinned. “I wanted to see the performers, mom!”

Dick spied identical marks of a small tiger on the arm of one woman and the wrist of the other. They must be her soulparents, he thought. The other woman grinned at him. “Hey, so you’re the kid who did those crazy flips, huh?” Dick nodded slowly.

“Good job out there. That was really impressive,” said the other, still holding Leah in her arms.

“Thank you,” Dick said, putting up a mask again to hide his tension. The women walked off with Leah, but the girl’s words took a place in Dick’s head.

That night, he talked to his parents.

“Mama, Baba, why do we have soulparents?” he asked while they cleaned up the tent and checked their equipment for the next show, a step his parents had drilled into his head. His mom turned around from where she was taking down the colourful bunting and looked at her son.

“You mean the story? I thought you have that memorised by heart by now,” she joked, although there was an undercurrent of concern in her voice for her son’s subdued demeanor. Dick shook his head.

“That’s not what I mean. I mean, if we already have parents, why do we _need_ new ones? You guys are enough for me,” he said nervously, rubbing his arm shoulder where his soulmark was. His dad furrowed his brows.

“What brought this on, son?” his father asked, pausing his collecting of their equipment and walking over to his son. John kneeled to face him, Dick’s troubled face meeting him. “I thought you were excited to meet your soulparent.”

Dick faltered, before his words began spilling out uncontrollably. “I am, but I don’t want to lose you for them. I want both. That’s possible, right? Because there was this girl at the circus, and her birth parents had slashed her soulmarks, and I know you wouldn’t do that to me, but she also said that we only need soulparents are bad or dead or -” He was cut off by a hug from his dad, his arms securely wrapped around him. Dick melted into the embrace.

“It’ll be alright, my little robin,” his mother soothed, walking over and stroking his hair gently. “I understand why you're upset, but I promise it’ll be fine.” She looked at him, over his dad’s shoulder as she kneeled in front of her son with a sad smile. “Some parents get angry when their kids are born with soul marks. They think it means they aren’t good enough. I’m sure you felt confused and angry for that little girl, especially if her parents did that to her. Some parents aren’t good, my darling.”

John broke the embrace and held his son's shoulders. “And It certainly doesn’t mean we’re going to die. Do you remember Miss Lavanya, who left the troupe last year?” he asked, and Dick nodded. Lavanya had been a fire breather who left the troupe when she met her soulchild at a performance, who had been there with his biological parents. “The boy’s parents were alive then, and are still alive now. It isn’t a rule of thumb at all.”

Mary smiled. “A soulparent is just another person to love you in your life. You don’t need to worry about it.”

Dick considered this. “Okay, I think I get it. But why weren’t you two mad when I was born with a soulmark?” he asked. John and Mary exchanged a glance.

“Your mother and I were thrilled at the fact that you could have someone else in your life to take care of you, even if something happens to us. Not that we are saying it will, but we were happy for you Dick. This is a blessing.” John said, ruffling his son’s hair. “Now, if you can help us out with checking the equipment, we can all get ice-cream after this,” he said smiling, getting up and walking back to the equipment.

Dick considered these words. A blessing. Shaking his head and filling it with thoughts of ice-cream, he tried to forget the way Leah flinched at the mention of her birth parents and the thought of losing his own, and went to check the ropes with his mother.

\---

As he grew up, he’d see more of this disdain for soulmarks. All of the different cultures he traveled through had different opinions on it, and the worst of these became occurrences in his nightmares. Before, he’d go to his parents during a nightmare, sleep in their bed and tell them about it. Now, he’d do the same, but when asked what happened, he wouldn’t tell. Not when the dreams featured their mangled bodies and the face of a stranger coming to take him away, from the circus and from his parents.

This stranger never hurt him, of course. The stories his parents had told him ensured that even in his worst nightmares, the stranger would love him. Love him so much that Dick would forget about the circus, and his parents, and how to fly. He'd forget everything he'd love, abandon them for someone new - a replacement.

Dick grew out of them, slowly. But that seed of doubt, of fear, would never leave his mind.

\---

No matter how many times Dick did the show, it would always be thrilling. Tonight was no different, as he stood at the entrance of the tent welcoming the people of Gotham into the circus. The air was filled with Pop Haly’s raucous laughter and the smell of popcorn and soda. This was going to be one of their biggest turnouts yet. He was eleven now, and his tricks had only gotten more impressive - the quadruple backflip being his absolute favourite.

Tonight, he’d do it for the small boy in front of him, barely three, with the cutest cheeks known to man and eyes wide in excitement. Dick winked at him and regaled him with stories of the tricks he would do tonight. This had always been his favourite part of the performance, behind the trapeze, of course. After taking a photo with the kid, he noticed an argument going on in the corner of his eye between Pop Haly and some men. Perhaps if hadn’t been so distracted by it, he would have noticed the lily of the valley on the boy’s neck, right where it met his back, peeking out from under his collar - identical to the one on his shoulder.

\---

Mary and John Grayson were good people. They loved their jobs, their friends, and most of all, they loved their son. Dick was a ray of sunshine in their lives, so optimistic and so talented. He was kind and good, considerate of others, and he shared their passion for flying through the air like birds and laughing at gravity like it couldn’t touch them. His smile could light up the room. They’d often wondered about their son's marks, tracing over the illustrations of flowers on his shoulder and chest when he was a baby. They realised later how accurately the daffodil was at foretelling the kind of person their child would become.

The lily of the valley had concerned them, for a while. It represented the sprouting of new happiness after tragic loss; it symbolized purity and loyalty. But the whole flower was toxic to touch - the petals, the stem, the roots and the leaves. It was a strange parallel, one which had concerned the Graysons for a while, before deciding that it was good to have faith in the universe and what it had decided for their son. After all, it was impossible to break the bonds that fate had tied.

Looking back, as the rope snapped and the last few seconds of Mary’s life flew by, amidst the shock and fear, she was glad. She was so, so glad that her son would be taken care of by a person the universe had picked for him, her little robin. She was glad she had seen the daffodil on his chest, knowing for certain her son would grow up to be a man who was trustworthy and kind and hopeful, even after his loss, even if she couldn’t see him becoming this person.

Like Mary, John was glad, but his regrets were also numerous. They’d be leaving their son, and be proving his worst fears correct, the ones he tried to hide after every nightmare featuring this scenario. He’d never be able to comfort his child after bad dreams, he’d never see him grow up, he’d never be there for him every time Dick wished for his dad. He’d never sing to him again at night, the same his mother had done for him as a child, in the tongue of their people.

Dick would never hear their voices, their words of comfort, their fond reprimands or them saying “I love you” after this. He wished he had more time, that they both did. John could only hope that whoever would take care of him next could do all of this for them. Could raise Dick into the wonderful man they knew he’d become.

When they hit the ground, hand in hand, their last thoughts were of their son, before the darkness swallowed them whole.

\---

  
Dick would remember the sickening **_snap_** of the rope as vividly as the shock on his parents' faces, the way they tumbled to the ground like birds whose wings had been shot. They had laughed at gravity, and gravity had laughed back. He would remember the yelling, the crying, the shock and most of all horror, pooling in his chest and swirling, descending deeper and deeper down until it threatened to swallow him whole. He would remember how it happened in a blink of an eye yet took an eternity to occur.

He wouldn’t remember how he got down from the trapeze or how loud the sirens were as the police took in the members of the circus for questioning. He wouldn’t remember how he got there, kneeling over the bodies of his parents as the pool of blood around them grew larger and larger, soaking his clothes and then looking into their blown wide eyes, with no life to be ever found in them again.

He definitely would remember the face of a man in the audience, who smirked rather than cried in shock like the others.

He would remember the large, encircling embrace pulling him away from the corpses as his voice was hearse with crying. He would remember the soft whispers of comfort in an unfamiliar voice as he cried into a chest too wide and too muscular to be his father’s limber acrobatic build. He would remember seeing his daffodil sitting on the man’s wrist as he pulled away, nestled in a garden of other flowers, encircling his wrist.

He remembers feeling so much anger at this so-called “blessing.”

\---

Bruce didn’t know what to do. After a rather short fostering process that was expedited by both Bruce’s status and the fact that Dick was his soulchild, Bruce had taken Dick back to the manor, to the sympathetic visage of Alfred. Alfred tucked Dick into a room he had prepared while the paperwork was being finalised, the boy exhausted from the day he had. It was almost sunrise, and both Bruce and Dick hadn’t slept a wink.

Once Dick was asleep, Bruce sat down with Alfred on the couch and began drinking a cup of Jasmine tea that Alfred had prepared. It didn’t calm his nerves at all.

“He’s the first one, Alfred.” Bruce said, quietly. He’d known, realistically, that this day would come, since the majority of the time soul-bonded people meet at least once. He’d hoped that the children on his wrist ended up being children of friends or family, someone he could love, but not be responsible for. Not put in danger with this crusade he’d begun. The universe, as it seems, has different plans, he thought, glancing in the direction of Dick’s new bedroom.

Alfred, with his almost superhuman attunement to another’s emotions, picked up on Bruce’s worries instantly. “That he is. Young Master Richard has been through a horrific event, and you must give him time. I remember how you were, after the same thing happened to you,” Alfred remarked delicately, dredging up memories of a boy whose smiles were lost too soon, a boy who had seen the cruelty the world would bring him at too young of an age.

The way the manor became cold and empty, as though the ghosts of Martha and Thomas Wayne haunted the halls themselves.

Bruce thought back to the boy, who had clung to him like he was the only thing keeping him alive. How after seeing the soulmark on Bruce’s wrist had caused him to stop crying abruptly, to move away like he’d been burned. What had shocked Dick so much? He’d then been quiet for the rest of the night, giving terse one word answers or nods when asked questions by the police and foster agents.

Had he had any bad experiences with soul parents? Dick didn’t have any other marks, so the probability of that was probably no.

Bruce had other things to concentrate on, rather than Dick’s feelings or how looking at this boy he’d known for less than twenty-for hours had somehow wormed his way into his heart already, or the sensation of fear and deep, familial protection had settled over his body.

Something had been fishy about the Graysons’ deaths. He had to find the people responsible for what happened tonight. He had to avenge Dick’s parents to bring the boy the peace he’d never gotten.

\---

The first thing Dick noticed is that he was tired. So, so tired. Next, he noticed the soft sheets, which smelled like lavender and fresh linen, opposed to the sheets on his bed which smelled like wildflowers and the circus. The bed was too soft, and too large, and in his stomach was the feeling that something was wrong.

Suddenly, Dick was hit with the memories from the night before, the circus lights, the trapeze, the tense and snap of the rope as his parents fell, down, down, down and -

His parents were gone. They weren’t coming back. And now he was in the home of his soulparent. Bruce Wayne.

The anger returned. He didn’t want a new parent. He wanted his parents back. But if he couldn’t, he’d have to settle for the next best thing. Revenge. Someone had to have tampered with the ropes, and he had a sneaking suspicion who.

Before he could begin formulating plans about the guys Pop Haly was arguing with before the show - something about someone called Zucco, he thinks - his door opened and an old man with gray, balding hair, a sympathetic expression and a tray with food walked in. Oh right, he thought, that’s Alfred. I met him last night. I think he’s the butler or something?

“Good morning, Master Richard. I had arrived to wake you, but it’s good to see you up. I brought you breakfast in bed today, I think that we can make an exception to arriving at the dining table for now,” Alfred said, putting down the tray on the bedside table and opening the curtains. Dick looked at the tray, and saw two pieces of toast with various spreads on the side, apple slices, and a cup of juice he assumed to be orange. “I wasn’t sure what you liked on toast, so I brought a variety you could choose from.”

Okay, so definitely the butler. He knew Bruce was rich, but he didn’t know how rich, since he was a Gotham outsider. Judging by the extravagance of the room and Alfred’s formality, he assumed his new soulparent had a lot of money. “Just call me Dick, Alfred. And I’m not that hungry, sorry,” he said, feeling a bit sheepish. He hoped Alfred hadn’t put too much effort into the meal, but he knew that if he tried to eat anything now, it would probably end up on these very expensive sheets. Alfred, however, looked incredibly sympathetic.

“Of course, Master Dick. I understand. Do try to eat something soon, it’s not good to go so long without eating,” he said, his voice soothing. Dick looked at the tray again and tentatively took one bite of the apple. Alfred seemed to brighten up a bit at that. “Of course, there is no need to force yourself.”

“Where’s Bruce?” Dick asked, once he had finished one slice. He hadn’t spoken a word to Bruce since the circus. Alfred’s face shifted to show a little bit of disappointment.

“Unfortunately, he’s currently at work. He will be able to spend time with you in the evening, hopefully,” Alfred said, opening the last of the curtains. That was fine with Dick. He didn’t want to see Bruce anyway. Dick ate for a while in silence until he gathered up the courage to ask Alfred the question that had been on his mind.

“Do the police know what happened?” he asked, timidly. Alfred looked pained.

“They have ruled it as an accident, Master Dick,” he said, sadly. “The rope hadn’t been checked properly, and it snapped.”

The anger he was holding at bay came back full force. “Accident? It wasn’t an accident! I checked those ropes with my parents before the show, like we always do! They can’t have snapped! We wouldn’t - I wouldn’t - have made that kind of mistake. It can’t have been that!” he shouted, tears threatening to spill down his face. “It can’t have,” he whispered, his voice settling. He suddenly felt bad at shouting, especially at Alfred who’d been nothing but kind to him so far. His mom would be disappointed. “Sorry for yelling,” he said, burying his face in his hands.

Alfred sat down on his bed and put a hand on his shoulder. “I know, my boy. It’s alright. And do not worry. Someone is on the case, and I promise they’ll figure out who did this,” Alfred said softly.

The clawing emotions in Dick’s chest stopped for a moment to think. Who was working in the case, if not the police? “Wait, Alfred, who’s on the case?” he asked, lifting his head to look at Alfred. Alfred sighed, in exasperation and another emotion Dick couldn’t place. Was it fondness?

“Gotham city has a person who helps us when the police fail. Batman,” Alfred said simply. “He works to keep our city safe and solve cases just like these.”

Dick had heard of him, on newspapers that passed by and through the gossip of the people at the circus. He’d heard he works alone to keep the city safe.

Maybe that should change.

\---

Two weeks later, Bruce looked at the small child in bright colours and a paper domino mask on the roof in front of him, and suddenly felt very tired.

“What are you doing here? Go home, it’s not safe,” he growled, unable to hide the undercurrent of panic running through his voice. Dick was out here, on a rooftop, where he could easily fall, or get shot and get killed - and he wasn’t even wearing any armour. However, it seemed that all his Batman intimidation fell short when the kid puffed up like a bird and gave him the most determined expression he had seen.

“No. I’m gonna find the people who killed my p - the Graysons, and you can’t stop me,” he said. The kid was eleven. His voice hadn’t even broken. He shouldn’t be on a rooftop, but in bed, tucked in safe and sound, or with Alfred baking cookies and drinking tea. Bruce mentally kicked himself for not putting alarms on Dick’s windows.

“Dick. I know it’s you. Go home. I’ll handle your parents' case,” he said, already turning around to comm Alfred to let him know that Dick managed to sneak out. Dick sputtered and then groaned in frustration.

“I thought you’d understand! I’m looking for justice! Isn’t that your whole job description? Plus, I’m an acrobat! I can fight and do cool flips like you do!” he whined, doing a triple flip to prove his point. Bruce felt a headache coming on.

“No. That’s the end of the discussion. I am not allowing an untrained, unarmored child go out to fight criminals who could shoot him dead instantly. Do you understa-” Bruce was suddenly cut off when Dick tackled him, the surprise of the maneuver allowing him to pin him to the ground. A bullet proceeded to whiz over them, exactly where Bruce’s head had been. Getting up quickly, Batman dropped into the alley the shots had come from and took out his assailants quickly, all while trying to keep an eye on Dick.

Bruce looked down at the men. Grabbing one by the collar and bringing him up to his face, Bruce decided to get some answers. “Who do you work for?” he growled out angrily.

The grunt was shaking. “N-no one! We saw you and decided to take a lucky shot!” he whimpered pathetically. Bruce was growing impatient. He had to get home and sort out this situation with Dick. Wait. Dick. Bruce dropped the goon to look back, and the rooftop was empty. That wasn’t good. He’d just acquired the child, and he’d already lost him.

\---

Dick ran and flew across the rooftops until he couldn’t anymore. He’d seen the goons' faces, and realised they were the ones Pop Haly had been talking to that night behind Batman’s shoulder, and instincts he didn’t know he had kicked in. He neared Gotham harbour and sat on top of a warehouse, breathing heavily.

He was there a while, as he thought about his parents. Maybe it was his fault. He should have checked the ropes right before the performance rather than before they opened, or maybe convinced his parents not to do the show that night. Maybe he should have jumped with them. Maybe he could have saved them. Those men were bad, he knew that - so why couldn’t he have saved them? Tears welled up in his eyes.

He didn’t notice the black shadow landing on the warehouse next to him until he was almost right behind him. With a startle, he pulled out a small kitchen knife he’d brought along as a weapon, before realising it was Batman he was looking at. With a sigh, he put it away and turned back to the edge of the warehouse. “Those men. They were there, that night my parents died,” Dick said, swinging his legs off of the warehouse roof and sitting on the edge. “They were shouting at Pop Haly about someone named ‘Zucco’. I should have known they were bad guys. Maybe if I’d told my parents, they’d still be here,” he said, looking at his palms that were resting on his legs. He took off the cheap domino mask and looked at Batman. “I need to find him. I need to bring him to justice,” he said, softly. Dick was half expecting Batman to yell at him, but instead he took a seat next to him. Gotham harbour was dangerous and the water was murky, but somehow Dick found peace looking over the water and seeing the moon’s reflection in it.

Batman began to speak. “My parents died when I was around your age. The police never found out who killed them. Everyday, I wonder what I could have done differently so they would still be here with me. I was so angry, at the world, at their killer, and at me. But nothing good comes of it, Dick. The fault in their deaths - both of my parents and yours - lies only with those who killed them, not you, and not me. You couldn’t have known. I will bring your parents’ killer to justice, I promise you Dick. But I can’t have you out here with no training, no armour and no real weapons. You could get seriously hurt.” Batman said, his voice still gravely, but with a vein of sympathy running through it. He understood, thought Dick, even if Batman still wouldn’t listen to him. Still, his resolve wasn’t broken yet.

“They could have killed you tonight if I wasn’t there. I could be your partner,” Dick argued. He wasn’t going to give up that easily. Batman considered him for a moment, before pulling something out of his utility belt. It was a black, metal blade shaped like a bat. He handed it to Dick.

“Here. Take this to protect yourself. I don’t want you out here again, but if you don’t listen to me, I’d rather you have a weapon that could actually do some damage.” Dick took the weapon and played about with it. It was definitely sharper than a kitchen knife. Dick got up to leave.

“Thanks, Batman. I’ll see you out here again,” Dick said, before he bounded away towards the manor.

\---

Of course, Bruce had more good sense than to let a child roam Gotham alone at night, so he tailed Dick almost all the way back until he was sure he’d be fine. He then proceeded to drop off the tied-up thugs he’d left behind at the precinct. After taking a breath of relief, he took the car to the cave to make plans for enough safety measures that, once installed, would make Blackgate look like a picket fence. It would take around a month to get them installed so Dick couldn't get out at all, but for now they would alert him if Dick left the manor, so Alfred and Bruce supervising him would be enough. Dick was never going out at night again if he could help it.

He’d already told Alfred to ignore Dick sneaking out tonight (no, he was not spoiling him, he just didn’t want Dick to get in trouble in his first month here after going through so much, even if Alfred believes otherwise) and began changing out of his gear. Walking up to the manor, he found Dick in his room fast asleep (or at least pretending to be). He let out another sigh of relief and went to bed. He could deal with Dick in the morning.

\---

Dick woke up and went down for breakfast. It seemed no one noticed he went out at night, which was both a relief but also kind of annoying. Some parent Bruce was. What was weird, is that Bruce was at the dining table with them, reading today’s paper, something the man hadn’t done all week. Honestly, Dick felt like Bruce was avoiding him. Which, good. He didn’t want to see him anyway.

Taking his usual seat, which was two away from Bruce, Dick poured himself some juice while Alfred served him eggs. The two sat in silence for a while, before Alfred cleared his throat, startling Bruce, who looked a bit sheepish, and then put down his paper and started eating. A beat of silence.

“So Dick, how have you been adjusting to the manor?” he asked, almost earnestly. Dick had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

“As well as anyone who just lost their entire family can adjust,” he said tersely. Bruce looked slightly nervous. The table settled into awkward silence again.

“Listen, Dick, I know we don’t know each other that well, but you can talk to me about anything. I’ll try and help with anything you need,” Bruce said, giving a small, flat smile. Dick had had enough of this guy.

“Don’t try to act like my dad. You're not my dad. I don’t need you to replace him,” Dick said coldly. “I’m only here cause I’m your soul-child. You wouldn’t care about me otherwise. You’ve ignored me all week.” Dick finished his eggs quickly, got up and left, leaving Bruce looking torn and Alfred disappointed. He ignored that stinging in his chest. He didn’t care if Bruce ignored him all week, and he didn't care about that his parents were wrong about what his soulparent would have been like. He’d ignored him all week, and now he wants to finally act like a parent? Dick was not having it.

Dick went up to his room and began practicing with Batman’s knife, which he had dubbed ‘batarang’. Batman was cool. He’d taken out those thugs like nothing, and he’d taken care of Dick. He understood what it was like, something Bruce would never get. Once he was skilled enough, he’d go out and help Batman find his parent’s murderer.

\---

That evening, Bruce was getting somewhere with the case. Protection rackets, mob bosses and hitmen all started to connect together once Dick had given him the name Zucco. In fact, Bruce had found out that the man would be in Gotham harbour to collect a shipment of drugs at a warehouse next to the docks next month - a perfect opportunity for Batman to show up and deliver some justice.

Bruce only wishes that the success in the case would translate to success with Dick in his parenting endeavors. Breakfast had been… enlightening, to say the least. He had to convince Dick he was not replacing his dad. Because he wasn’t, not at all. Bruce wasn’t fit to be a dad, not to someone as enigmatic and talented as Dick, a kid who managed to not only save Batman, but sneak away from him in the same night.

Alfred came down with some sandwiches and water. “Any luck on the case, Master Bruce?” he asked while setting down the tray. Bruce took a bite of a sandwich.

“Yes. I’ll be busting a drug operation by them next week. I’ve already gathered plenty of evidence that Zucco was behind the Graysons’ murder, so all I need to do is catch him,” Bruce said, triumphant. Alfred smiled.

“This is good news. Now only if you could tell Master Dick about it,” he said, a hint of disapproval in his voice. Bruce grunted. He couldn’t tell Dick, because that meant telling Dick he was Batman, and that meant bringing him into this world filled with murder and criminals and violence, something Dick had already seen too much of. Dick deserved a normal childhood, at least. Alfred sighed. “At least talk to the lad. He’s lonely, you know. A lot like you as a child.”

Before Bruce could respond, an alert on his computer showed that Dick had left the manor. This was not good. All the security measures hadn’t been put in place yet, just the alert, so nothing was stopping Dick from leaving, so that meant they now had to catch up with him. Cursing and quickly pulling down his cowl, Bruce left the manor to look for his soulchild.

\---

Dick was on the roof of the house, fortunately not the rooftops of Gotham city. Bruce, much to Alfred’s dismay, went to go change into civilian clothes before confronting him. Alfred, meanwhile, decided to go and talk to the lad.

“Be careful up there, Master Dick, I don’t want you to fall,” he said, calling out from Dick’s open bedroom window. Dick climbed down and jumped into the bedroom. “Are you alright, Master Dick?”

Dick shrugged and looked away. “I would have been fine, y’know. I used to climb a bunch of high places with my parents. I missed doing it, so I thought…” Dick trailed off. “I miss them. A lot.” Dick said softly.

Alfred sighed and sat down. “It’s alright Master Dick. You gave us a bit of a scare, that’s all,” he said. Dick furrowed his brows.

“‘Us’? Why would Bruce care? I’ve barely seen him this whole time.”

Alfred looked at him for a moment, considering his words carefully. “Master Bruce has difficulty, sometimes, with showing his emotions. I am also not lying when I say he has been very busy with work.” With putting Zucco behind bars. “I promise you he cares, and he isn’t trying to replace your parents. I think he sees too much of himself in you.”

Dick looked at him questioningly. “He sees himself in me? Why? I’m from the circus and he grew up in a mansion. We’re pretty different.”

“You are both people who lost their parents to bad people at young ages and had to be put in the care of your soul-parents,” Alfred said, to the shock of the young boy.

“Bruce lost his parents too? Wait, who’s his soulparent?” he asked, puzzled.

“Why, my boy, I am Bruce’s soul parent. I took him in after his parents were shot in front of him when he was eight” Alfred said, showing him the back of his hand. It was a lily of the valley, just like the one on his shoulder. “I know you are scared of him replacing your dad, but trust me when I say he understands the most about what you are going through. Bruce would never try to replace him.”

Dick tensed, looked at the little flower on Alfred’s hand, and his façade broke, small tears dripping down his face. “I just don’t want to forget them, Alfred. I don’t,” he sobbed, as Alfred held him close.

“You won’t Master Dick. I promise you, you won’t.”

Alfred didn’t comment on Bruce standing in the doorframe, but he really wished the man would just come inside and hug his son, rather than stalk away at this moment.

\---

Within the next month, Dick had warmed up to Bruce significantly. Even if the boy was still a little uncomfortable around him, he no longer glared at him when he entered a room, sometimes made small talk with him at breakfast and he’d even offered for Bruce to join his movie one night with a small smile. Bruce was so happy with the progress he’d made. He’d do anything to let Dick smile like that all the time.

In return, Bruce tried to talk back to him and try to have him open up. Even though Dick’s mood was improving, he still hadn’t opened up about his trauma since that night with Batman, something Bruce knew he should work through. After expressing this sentiment to Alfred, he’d received a look of exasperation and a dry comment about being a hypocrite before he dropped the idea for a bit. Perhaps Dick would open up once Zucco was away.

Bruce didn’t want to push him. He wasn’t Dick’s dad - he’d made that very clear - and he would respect his wishes. Even if he sometimes slipped up in his head, calling Dick his kid, or his son. Because he could just be Bruce for Dick, and that would be enough, as long as Dick was happy. 

Dick had also gained an absolute obsession with Batman. When they had been to the mall once, Dick had absolutely begged him to get a hideous bootleg shirt with a minion dressed as Batman on it, which Bruce absolutely refused to buy until Dick turned the puppy dog eyes on him. Bruce had wasted money on a lot of things for his persona as a ditzy billionaire, but this was by far his worst purchase.

The night of the operation was approaching, something Bruce was reminded of anytime Dick tried to go out at night. This had been the biggest source of arguments between them so far, with Dick getting mad that he was caught every time. Still. Bruce would rather Dick be mad at him then bleeding out on a rooftop from a bullet wound any day.

The day finally arrived, and Bruce got ready to bring his kid the justice he’d never gotten.

Although he still went on patrol every night, he tried to have dinner with Dick as much as he could. Tonight, however, Bruce would have to get ready a bit early, so he'd have to skip it.

“I’ll be out tonight for dinner Dick. Listen to Alfred and keep out of trouble, alright?” he said while Dick was watching Disney on the TV. Dick turned around and grinned.

“Have fun on your date Bruce.” Dick teased while Bruce shook his head fondly. Time to get to work.

\---

Dick was bored. He was _suuuuper_ bored. Dinner had been delicious, but boring, since Alfred had to leave suddenly during dinner due to work elsewhere in the manor, so he had to eat alone. Which was fine of course, it’s not like he hated eating dinner alone, but he’d often talk to Bruce at dinner about his day, whcih could be fun.

Dick had decided that Bruce was okay, but Alfred was absolutely right about him. Bruce was pretty bad at emotions, even if he was fun to talk to. But it was obvious he wasn’t trying to replace his parents. Bruce would never come by his room to tell him goodnight, or sing him lullabies, or ruffle his hair whenever he left for work. Dick would never show Bruce his crudely drawn paintings of the flowers in the lawn, or wake him up when he had nightmares. And that was fine.

He was sure it was fine, despite the pang of loss he felt whenever Bruce pulled away from the rare hug Dick would give him, or disappear for hours without telling him. It was fine.

Shaking his head from these thoughts, Dick decided to begin his plans for the night. Since both Bruce and Alfred were busy, he was unsupervised for the first time since he originally snuck out. Running into his room, grabbing his batarang and costume, Dick decided to do one last check of the house before leaving, to ensure he wasn’t caught.

Wandering through the huge manor - seriously, why did a house need so many rooms - Dick found Bruce’s study, with the door cracked open and one of the lights on. Dick could see someone’s shadow on the back wall. Weird. Bruce was away, and Alfred cleaned the study every morning, so there was no reason for him to be there now. Was it an intruder?

Dick pulled out the batarang. It made him feel powerful, rather than safe - strong enough to protect others. He slowly opened the door to find the study empty. Now that was definitely weird, cause no windows were open, and there were no other exits from the study except the door. The intruder had vanished into thin air. A little freaked out, Dick looked around, hoping to see nothing out of place, except the grandfather clock was set to the wrong time and there was found a giant passage in the bookshelf. Well, that wasn’t there before.

“What the hell is going on?” Dick whispered to himself, before deciding to abandon his plans for tonight to figure what was going on here instead.  
\---

Alfred watched the cowl footage with heavy fear in his heart. Bruce had told him to stay off of comms for tonight and watch Dick instead, but he couldn’t let his soulchild be out there alone, so he decided to go down to the cave as fast as he could, forgetting to close the door in his hurry. The cowl footage was not promising. There had been more men than Bruce had expected due to Zucco picking up some extra goons last minute, and Bruce had been caught unaware.

What he didn’t know was that there was someone else in the cave, also watching the cowl footage, watching his guardian get beat up by the man that had killed his parents. Dick watched, feeling all the feelings he had suppressed since that day rise through his body, sear his skin and heart with hate, and horror, and fear. Bruce was Batman. Bruce had given him that batarang and promised to avenge his parents that day.

And now, he would lose another parent to the same man again.

Dick wouldn’t let this stand. Focusing on the cowl footage, he realised that this was in Gotham harbour - the place he had run to before - judging by the boats and warehouses near it. With a location in mind, Dick formulated a plan.

As soon as he judged Alfred to be sufficiently distracted by the footage, Dick ran for the cars and picked what seemed to be the easiest one to drive. His dad had taught him a little bit, back when they lived in a caravan, so he was sure he could figure it out.

Alfred’s worried shouts almost stopped him, but he wasn’t going to let another parent die on his watch.

\---

Bruce was in trouble. He could admit that much. Zucco laughed as he stood over him, gun in hand.

“You know Batman, when you dropped some of my men off at the precinct I was pretty mad. I was thinking about how arrogant some schmuck in a costume would have to be to go up against me. But looking around at how you fought today, I was pretty impressed. I suppose you aren’t some random nutjob in a Bat costume after all, eh?” Zucco laughed as he looked around the warehouse. Bruce had managed to take out most of his men, until one managed to take a pipe iron to his leg. The kevlar had protected him from a bad fracture, but his leg was definitely broken. The attack had given Zucco enough time to level a gun at him.

Bruce began looking for avenues to escape. The remaining men had secured the exits, and the one with the tire iron was still behind him in case he moved to attack Zucco. The comms were jammed, he could hear Alfred trying to tell him something, but it was incomprehensible through the static.

“It’s been fun, Bats. But playtime is over,” Zucco said cooly as his finger began to press down on the trigger.

Suddenly, a bat shaped knife came hurtling through the open roof, knocking the gun out of Zucco’s hands. “What the -” Zucco started before being cut off by Batman who took advantage of this distraction to punch Zucco in the face and kick the pipe iron guy with his good foot. When he moved to take down the other men, in the corner of his eye he saw a small figure dressed in bright yellow, green and red. Dick. Bruce’s heart dropped to his stomach.

“Who the hell are you meant to be, kid?” Zucco asked, rage flashing in his eyes as he tried to recover from the punch.

“Call me Robin,” Dick said, picking up his weapon and running towards Bruce.

“What are you doing here, Robin?” Bruce said, glaring at the kid and stressing his alias. What was he thinking? He was going to get killed and this would all be Bruce’s fault because he didn’t get the stupid security system up. Dick had the audacity to look unashamed.

“You were in trouble. I stole one of the cars and got here ‘cause I saw the docks on the cowl footage when I sneaked into the cave. So I took my costume and batarang and decided to come help,” he said, throwing his - what did he call the weapon? A batarang? - at one of the approaching goons. Bruce had never been more scared or angry in his entire life. But right now, he had to focus on the fight. He took out the goons on the left entrance of the warehouse while giving Robin a few more Batarangs, which Dick managed to use to knock the weapons off of some of the guys, and although he wasn’t perfect, he was more accurate than Bruce had expected. Had he been practicing?

It was going well, until Bruce realised he hadn’t seen Zucco in a while. Bruce finished off his goons and looked around for him, and saw the man reaching for his gun, having recovered from the punch. On the other side of the warehouse, Dick had his back turned towards Zucco, taking out some goons of his own. Zucco slowly aimed the gun towards Dick, and Bruce’s heart stopped in it’s chest and his legs screamed at him to run, and it was just like the alley all over again - and Bruce lunged for Zucco with all his might as fast as he could, but it was too late, and his finger was on the trigger when -

“ROBIN!” Bruce yelled, and Dick turned, saw Zucco and ducked, the bullet barely missing his head. Bruce tackled Zucco and threw his gun away, so he could apprehend him, knocking the man out and tying him up as quickly as possible. He ran over to Dick and took out the men over there as well, before looking at his son - so brave and clever and alive - and then gathered him up into a tight embrace.

\---

When Commissioner Gordon arrived at the scene, he was met with fifty men tied up, surrounded by drugs he’d been tracking for weeks, and a USB with all the information about Graysons’ deaths and their relation to Zucco. He also heard rumours about a small child in traffic light colours who had joined Batman during the fight, managing to hold his own just fine. Gordon really felt as though moving from Gotham could be good for his mental health. In the two years the Bat had been in Gotham, things had only gotten weirder, but he couldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, he supposed.

\---

The ride in Bruce’s car - or batmobile, as Dick liked calling it, - was tense. Bruce was still so mad - he hadn’t forgotten the danger Dick had put himself into - but all he could feel at the moment was relief. Dick was fine. He was alive. He was here. Dick sensed the tension and decided to lay his feelings out into the table.

“I don’t regret it, y’know. If I’d been even a minute late, you’d have been dead. And then I’d have no-one,” he said, refusing to meet Bruce’s eyes. “I was worried. I didn’t want to lose you as well, like I lost them.”

Bruce sighed. He couldn’t be mad at Dick for this, despite him really wanting to be. Did having a kid for a little over a month really make him this soft? “I know you wanted to avenge your parents. I understand why you did what you did. In the end, I also picked up a costume to avenge my parents and save this city, even if it happened a number of years later. But you aren’t trained Dick. You could have died.”

Dick looked at him. “I know. But it really isn’t about my parents anymore,” he admitted. Bruce shot him a questioning look. “I mean - of course I wanted to avenge them, and when we were fighting, I honestly wanted to hurt Zucco. To make him feel the way my parents must have before they died, but I realised I don’t want to hurt people. I want to protect others, Bruce, so no-one dies to people like Zucco. I want to do what you do. I want to protect this city.”

Bruce exhaled and rubbed his temples. “No. You deserve a normal childhood, Dick.”

“Then I’ll keep sneaking out. Someone needs to watch your back, and you have to admit we make a pretty good team. Batman and Robin - the dynamic duo!” Dick said, determination shining in his eyes. Bruce had gotten to know Dick pretty well over the last few weeks, and realised with a sinking sensation that this would be one battle he couldn’t win. Sensing Bruce’s incredibly reluctant acceptance, Dick doubled down.

“You could train me! In the Batcave. I’m a quick study - you saw me with those batarangs, right? Also you should probably teach me how to use that computer. The batcomputer? I don’t know.” Bruce levelled a deadpan look at him.

“Batcomputer, batcave, batarangs - are you going to put ‘bat’ in front of everything?” Bruce asked tiredly. Dick nodded excitedly.

“Yep! It makes the most sense, y’know? Like bat-training for training, or that plane could be the batplane, which makes you batdad -” Dick cut himself off quickly when Bruce almost hit a lamppost after that sentence. “Woah, watch where you’re - Bruce? You good?” Dick asked, looking at Bruce’s fond expression.

“Batdad? Are you sure?” Bruce asked softly. Dick flushed. After almost arriving at the cave, Dick spoke up again, having pondered the question.

“I mean yeah, I guess, since you’re my soulparent, so you’re _technically_ my dad, and hey, you know, my parents always said it’s like gaining a new parent rather than replacing your old ones, so if you don’t mind I guess I you could be my dad and -” Bruce cut him off my placing a hand on his shoulder, bringing the car to a stop, now that they’d reached the cave.

“Dick, I would be honored for you to consider me your father,” Bruce said, genuine emotion filling his voice. “I am so happy that you are my son.”

Once they got out of the car, Dick once again hugged Bruce with an iron grip, Alfred smiling as he walked towards them with medical supplies.

As Dick was surrounded by his new family, one which was unique and special in it’s own right, he realised something. His parents were right. Perhaps this was a blessing, in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the link to that God awful minion t-shirt Dick buys:  
> https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.mpcteehouse.com%2Fproduct%2Ffunny-minion-batman-kids-t-shirts%2F&psig=AOvVaw3lPhFp2SPLlIzsaN6m9slm&ust=1616270422122000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CA0QjhxqFwoTCMDLptWSve8CFQAAAAAdAAAAABAE
> 
> Also, a little bonus scene I wanted to put into the chapter, but couldn't cause it didn't fit. Imagine Dick waking from a nightmare, about his parents or Bruce dying at the hands of Zucco, or any of the monsters he fights as Robin. Imagine little Dick Grayson crawling into Bruce's bed, hoping to feel the same comfort his dad would give him back at the circus. Imagine Bruce, half-asleep, wrapping his arm around Dick, humming a tune that is so different, yet feels the same, as the Romani lullabies his father sang to him.


End file.
